Strangling Seaweeds
by ultSmarsh
Summary: Love's lost, Love's found, but there's never enough time to go around. What happened to purity, to innocence, to love without a dollar sign? Nico/Percy.
1. (Nico 1) When Dandelions Dance

Dying never feels as real as when you're falling from a tree, eyes wide open, knees locked and pants peed, a half-formed scream still surging from your lips, Nico thought. And there he sees him, too predictable for a movie, too perfect for reality. Beautiful cerulean eyes that capture the sunlight, hair swept sideways by the wind, arms that look tanned and sculpted and gorgeous. His angel. Nico closes his eyes, and smiles, knowing that the arms of love would catch him.

At least he only broke his leg, Nico grumbles, else he'd have to sue the little angel standing by his bed, looking curiously at him. Oh, the terrible injustice of life. His name was Percy, he learned, and he had just moved to their neighborhood a few days ago, before Nico had attempted his disastrous ascent to rescue a kite.

The hospital gave him three days of mandatory recovery, during which he alternated between fantasizing about punching Percy, and, well, fantasizing about him. He was cute, after all, with the way he kept mumbling about how sorry he was that he just _didn't notice_ the falling body in front of him, or how he fidgeted when his mom, a really enthusiastic soccer-mom type, assured Nico for the millionth time that "her son was extremely sorry" and that "he really didn't think with his head" and that "maybe they should become best friends because they just moved here".

And on the third day, he rose again. With a crutch, and a massive pile of random baked goods and Tupperwares to haul back to his house, courtesy of Ms. Sally Jackson.

Shit. He hated eating alone.

He leaned over the couch, careful not to actually touch the other boy because that would be _too much_ , and grabbed another macaron from a floral-lined box. Besides him, Percy sat transfixed at the sprawling television screen, as his character took the plunge off the road again. Beside them, the housekeeper hummed as she wiped off the trays of unused wine glasses and poured them each another glass of imported sparkling cider.

Miserable and wretched was thLe life of an orphan.

He had grown used to it, of course; three years ago, after that freak storm vanished his family somewhere in the mountains, he had turned away from the world, to a digital existence. After all, what else to expect of a ten-year-old boy, coping from grief? _Mario Kart_ , porn, _Smash_ , more porn, a meal, maybe toss in some class by reading an overtly sexual fanfiction.

Truth was, grief didn't register with him anymore. He looked thirteen, sure, and maybe younger with his scrawny limbs and gaping eyes, but it was as if pain had dulled his senses. He often looked in the mirror, shirtless, staring blankly at the scars cutting across his chest in elegant slashes. He struggled to work emotion into his annual speech at the family memorial, and so to him, pain seemed like the prisoner's freedom or beggar's meal- an abstract dream.

Nico felt a hand tapping his shoulder, and a controller slid onto his lap.

"Dude, help me beat this level."

Then there was Percy, who caused something to stir inside him he never knew was there. Not love, definitely, but more a surge of hormones that rushed into his ears, coursing through his blood and causing uncomfortableness and awkward adjustments to sprout.

His friends always called him wordy, his teachers called him gifted, and his bullies faggy, but he always seemed to conceptualize everything descriptively, with an almost overbearing prose. He couldn't help it, but it just sprang into his head- no one was cool or ugly or cute, but rather intimidatingly inimitable, or a visual travesty, or a match to his loins. Blame it on the fanfiction.

Speaking of which, Percy really was cute. He was a tiny bit shorter than Nico, but his frame was solid and almost muscular. His face was a lot more chiseled then most Nico had seen; truly, upon closer inspection, it sloped in and out at exactly the right places, and combined with those welling eyes, he was nothing if not an angel. An angel whom Nico could imagine doing many naughty things with.

Like holding hands, he thought, as Percy's slender fingers brushed against his palm, and he felt a shiver.

"Dude?"

He stared blankly at the hand for a second, then the controller, then Percy.

"Right, okay I'll play it for you, you stupid.

It was later that day, sitting on the ragged grass of Percy's lawn, sipping powdered lemonade, that Nico saw it again, the dance of the dandelions.

They were his mother's favorite plant, with their cute resemblance to a furry bubble. She used to blow on them, and watch as the seedlings twirled into the sky, catching the light that streamed from the sun, and they sure looked like baby angels to Nico. Bianca was in school, and his dad was busy litigating this or that, but Nico was there, and she cradled him.

And talked. Of a mysterious land called Italy, where _bellos_ and _ballerinos_ and _bruschettas_ roamed the streets, and every day the sun rose and the hills caught ablaze with life. Where she'd grown up, in a small village she swore was "fairytale", and how she'd bring Nico one day there when they were older. That her father (his _nonno_ , she'd remind him), would take him fishing with him, and go hide in the vineyards and fields together.

It may come as a surprise that none of that would ever happen.

But as he sat there, next to a softly snoring Percy (the boy had an absolutely incredible talent for sleeping), Nico felt the air blow through his hair, and the ragged dandelions took off.

They weren't as magically puffy, or unblemished, and many seeds were missing from their feathery parachutes. But they were there, and they were theirs.

 _Ours_.

He stared at them, rising towards the sky, each one knowing they would fall but still rising and rising, hoping that they would fall in a sunnier land.

A soft giggle sounded next to him.

"What's so funny about the dandelions?"

"Nothing," Nico said. He wasn't defensive, of course not, they weren't even flowers so it was okay for him to like them. They were very masculine, rugged, weeds.

Percy shrugged. "It's okay if you like them. I like them too; they're sorta cool the way they scatter so freely into the air."

"Hm. If you say so, I guess they're okay to like," Nico said, a little flutter almost escaping through his voice.

"What?"

But there was no more response, only a peaceful hum.

It was the summer Nico came alive again.

They watched clouds, soared kites, tripped over tree branches and crashed their bikes. They swam lazy circles around in the pool, or raced from one end to the other, Nico always a sputtering mess while somehow Percy didn't even look wet. The housekeeper started making double portions, and in Nico's room, a spare mattress popped up, then a bed, then a home, until the room was a jarring mix of pastel blue and black, blurred across the nonexistent line that separated their lives.

It was their summer, Nico thought, and maybe, just maybe, he was in love.


	2. (Percy 1) Friends?

I woke up, and then hit my head on the bedpost again.

Bedpost. Back home we didn't have those things, only walls and dirty cots and ragged sheets draped over the dirty cots. It wasn't really Mom's fault, I guess, that our life was such a mess.

Rather, it was theirs. Imagine combining all the diseases in the world, pushing it through a meat grinder, seasoning it with a healthy dose of toxic waste, and then molding it into a remotely human-shaped plastic bag. Then, multiply that by two, and you've got my fathers.

Basically identical, but one smelled a bit more like fish.

Looking at my mom, you would think she was the perfect woman, and I pretty much thought she was. She was beautiful but not arrogant, smart but not degrading, and nice. I guess her biggest problem was her taste in men.

First was my dad, aka the father of all deadbeats. (Hm, I guess that makes me a deadbeat.) After having me, he left my mother _in the hospital_ , the equivalent of walking out of a restaurant and leaving your date with the check, except his 'date' didn't have money, and the 'check' was me.

I'm sort of bad at metaphors and similes and all that stuff, but I'll learn more about it in high school, I guess. If I can even make it that far.

Anyways, my other dad, the less fishy one, was somewhere on some business trip, and wouldn't be back until the fall. Which was perfectly fine with me. I had no clue why my mom, who I thought could easily fit onto a magazine, would marry him.

Because he was fat, hairy, ugly, and a total jerk. (Duh. I foreshadowed this earlier, at least I think.)

And here I am, Percy Jackson, the product of my mom and two disease-ridden trash bags, sitting on a bed and rubbing my head.

I've never been good at staying on topic.

His name is Nico, D. Angelo (I'm not sure if the D stands for anything, but Angelo's a pretty cool last name.) He's sort of quiet and stuff, and a whole year younger than me, but he's also really funny. And probably smarter than me also, though I hope he never finds that out, because then I won't have any friends. Again.

It's this thing called dyslexia, something that sounds really bad, like a combination of disaster and anorexia (a fancy word we learned in class). It's not that bad, I guess, but it makes me really bad at reading and writing and even talking. It's like the words and numbers just seem like puzzles, the letters always teasing and jumping around, and I don't know, it's really hard to keep them in place. But I try, and Mrs. Athena says I'm only a bit behind.

But the other day, I was trying to play hide-and-seek during recess, and I was seeking and forgot what I counted to. So I started again, but then I forgot again. Then my neighbor, this boy named Luke, came up and hit me hard in the stomach, and called me an idiot.

Which was fine, I guess. He's only telling the truth.

Anyways, Nico's here again, back in his room, and he looks at me weirdly.

"Did you hit your head on the bedpost again?"

I frowned. "Nope."

"I can see you wincing, and the bedpost is crooked again."

Oops.

He laughs, and comes over and adjusts the bedpost back to its original position.

"Now, about your head…" he says, and runs his finger through my hair.

I blush.

That's one more thing I got going wrong with me, that Nico can never ever know about. As if having a broken family and a broken head wasn't enough, I also got a broken heart. I've heard about it from the older kids at our school, and I don't ever want anybody to know, because it's somehow worse than everything else.

I don't really like girls that much. Like they're pretty, and smart and are usually a lot nicer than the guys in that they don't hit me, but I just don't like them very much. Like, in that way.

He's so close to me, I can feel his breath on my skin, and it's hard not to flinch. I stammer a bit, even more than normal, when I'm nervous, but I try to keep my voice steady.

"It's nothing, Ni-Nico. Really."

He laughs, and takes his hand away. "I'll get Barbara to grab an ice pack for you."

Barbara, his housekeeper. Isn't it crazy how cool Nico is, that he gets a whole house and a housekeeper as well? He's so nice also, letting me stay here and eat his food without paying, even though my mom gets sort of mad at me for 'having no shame.'

Oh well. Maybe this is what having a friend is like.

I wouldn't know.

We go outside, and sit by his pool. It's really cool, the idea of a pool, you know? It's like an ocean without the journey or the salt, and Nico has his very own pool.

I guess the only thing I'm really good at is swimming. Sometimes, me and my mom (oops, my Mom and I) go drive down to the reservoir, which is like a giant water bucket for our town, and she watches me swim around in it. I'm faster than all the other kids, unless they're holding me down in the water, in which case I'm not.

Someday, I want to go to the ocean, which my mom says is really beautiful, and that no matter what direction I look, all I'll see is the same blue waves, no bullies in sight.

I'd like that.

"I'll race you."

And suddenly, for the first time, he's taking off his shirt, and wow.

It's a weird buzz that runs through me, that starts in my lungs like I'm drowning underwater, but it doesn't hurt. No, it feels sort of warm, and it tingles all the way down my back and up my head.

Nico is really pale, but his skin is so pure. It's white and spotless, and stretches tightly over his abdomen.

He's in the water now, and I hear him laughing as the water splashes onto me. "Hurry up", he says, and I smile.

Because if there's one place I can impress him, it's the water.

I strip down and jump in as well, and after a moment, he has this glint in his eye.

"Let's go."

I win, pretty easily. I don't know why, as I'm not good at much anything else, but swimming just comes so easily to me, like water flying. Behind me, Nico is sputtering, and pretending to be mad. I know he's pretending because he's laughing at the same time.

"Dude, it's like you're part dolphin."

I smile, because it's a compliment, and I like those. "Yeah!"

He swims over, and this time, he looks a little different. Older, maybe?

"I bet you can't touch the bottom of the pool."

I look at the numbers on the side of the pool. It's a 7 and a 8, and although I'm not sure what they mean, I know the pool looks pretty deep. I can't even see the bottom.

"I dare you first."

The words come out of my mouth before I can take them back, and I realize a bit too late what I've done. The dare, that holy curse. And Nico was definitely not one to back off from a dare. Still, if I took it back, I'd be a wimp.

"Okay."

And without another sound, his dark head disappears underneath the water.

I feel it in my gut first, a really strange feeling. It's one of dread, that he won't make it back up.

He's moving deeper and deeper, and I can see he's almost there because his hands are moving and his feet are kicking slower, and the bubbles are streaming up faster.

And then he stops. It's like the water around him suddenly froze into Jello, as he sort of lies there suspended, near the bottom of the pool. Like his corpse.

No, not a corpse. My _friend_.

I plunge down, and immediately the pressure hits me. It's like someone's squeezing on the side of my head, pushing me this way and that. My arms feel heavier, and my head feels like screaming, but I can't open my mouth underwater.

I grab onto his arm and pull. Upwards, upwards, upwards, until my brain just stops.

Splash, ground, sputter. He's there next to me, but he's not really moving, and the drips of water cling to his chest like a lifevest.

"Mrs. Barbara!" I yell, but she doesn't answer. Probably off doing the laundry, or watching TV or something.

I guess there's one thing left to do, because Nico's eyes are still closed and he might be dying. I've only seen it in movies, when the person is lying still like they might almost be dead, like _Titanic_ or _Snow White_.

I take a deep breath, try to ignore my racing heartbeat, and plunge my lips on his. They feel soft and sorta mushy, and _wow I'm kissing him_ , but I guess the important thing is that he stays alive.

And he opens his eyes.

 **A/N: Thanks for reading my newest fanfic! If not evident yet, it's going to alternate between two perspectives, and will very quickly take a darker turn. Please review!**


	3. (Nico 2) Deep

He watches the bubble float towards the sky.

And then it bursts, because, well, it wasn't made of particularly strong soap, and it was a rather windy day.

And symbolism. To commemorate the beginning of high school.

It wasn't as if he was scared of high school, because there really wasn't much to be scared of, just a wardrobe of stereotype cutouts. Jocks, cheerleaders, those who ran down the hallways awkwardly by themselves, or who huddled in gossipy circles in the library, or those who thought math was an appropriate substitute for exercise.

Did that make him the stereotypical unstereotype?

His thoughts were interrupted by a beeping of a horn, and when he saw Percy leaning out of the window of his mom's car.

"Yo we're going to be late", he said.

Percy, his best friend, and at some times, his only. From middle school, his friend had changed significantly, and definitely not in a bad way.

His hair was a bit longer, but kept in this _totally unstyled_ form (Percy's name for his 5-product routine), which looked just a bit too arranged. His face had thinned out a lot near the chin, so he now had that mythical jawbone, and his voice had changed from a pip-squeaky dolphin giggle to a smoother, light sound, that reminded Nico of light trickling down into the ocean. Due to his constant laps in Nico's pool, Percy had built up a pretty damn good physique, and his chest lightly bumped out his shirt.

Unfortunately for him, all those changes were for Percy and Percy alone. He could still comfortably have Barbara shop at Abercrombie Kids.

He opened the door and clambered in, and soon they were off.

For the purpose of "economic diversity", or forcibly mixing the rich sectors with the poor one, their town had set up a rather fancy school splitting system. There were six elementary schools, which were split into the three middle schools in such a way that each middle school had around a 50-50 split of the poor and rich, and then they all came together in high school as one happy, thousand-strong, family.

If only. Nico guessed he shouldn't complain, since he was one of the rich, but he often got lumped in with the other poorer kids due to his looks. At school, the teachers almost publicly favored those students from the rolling green hills of Uptown, and the kids behaved the same way, only meaner.

And now they were, all coming together.

"Hey Percy, are you nervous?" He asked.

Percy leaned back and grinned, a cheesy smile that pulled at the corners of his eyes, and tugged Nico's heart in all sorts of ways.

"It's not going to be a big deal, dude," he said, watching as the trees went by the car. "It's just high school, and as long as I have my best friend with me, it'll all be okay."

That phrase again, simultaneously endearing and ridiculously infuriating. _Best friend_.

It was probably Nico's fault, in that he never told Percy that he was gay, but still. It was as if the hero was completely oblivious to the way he moved, in the water every morning for the past three years, water drifting over his toned body while Nico sat by, "for safety". As if.

Truth was, he wanted nothing more than to be Percy's friend forever, and yet he also wanted so much more. He had read recently of a marriage petition in Massachusetts, all those states away, where two guys who had known each other since childhood asked to get married.

"Mm. Can I ask you something else?"

"Shoot."

Nico swallowed. "Will we be friends forever?'

Percy leaned back again, and this time his eyes were cold, colder than they'd ever been, as if the soft summer current that always ran through them suddenly froze.

"If you ditch me on the first day of school, di Angelo.."

Nico laughed, and suddenly the world turned a few shades brighter.

There's a moment, Nico thought, in everyone's life, where a decision is to be made. The decision between taking the leap forward, or standing on solid ground a moment longer. He always thought of himself as a jumper; after all, when the ground he stood on was that fucked up, it wasn't like he had much to stand on anyways.

Back up.

It had been three months since high school had started, and well, it had progressed almost exactly like he thought it would. After the first week passed, with the exhilaratingly fake smiles and friendliness, he was left completely in the dust as the groups settled.

And, of course, Percy basically forgot his name.

His best friend was hot, nice, and a star athlete. Could he even call him his best friend anymore, if they hadn't talked for weeks? It wasn't even a question whether they would stay friends forever, and although Percy still waved to him in the hallways, it didn't mean much. No longer in the mornings did Percy come over to his pool, or drive by with his mom to pick him up, and after a while, Percy's side of his bedroom seemed broken and neglected, catching cobwebs and smelling lightly rotten.

He imagined it must be fate, though, because then something happened. Never being one to be closely attuned to the social circles of the school, he didn't hear about it directly, but from the whispers and stares.

Percy Jackson, stud swimmer, had come out of the closet.

In retrospect, it was a train wreck waiting to happen. They lived in upstate New York, where "damn liberals" was muttered underneath the breath for every incident, no matter how remotely unrelated it was to liberalism.

The backlash was swift.

 _Fag._

 _Gay boy, should've been able to tell by the Speedos._

 _Can't believe he had the guts to show his face in this locker room again. Probably checking us out, eh?_

And yet, Percy kept his head high, and Nico felt shame rise in his heart. He should be there, supporting his friend, bearing the brunt of high school's cold bite together.

"Nico, please."

The decision. He looked down at the green-eyed boy, who sat on the side of his bed, not having the guts to even look up.

He laughs now, a cold gurgle that rushes out of his throat before he can stop it.

It's funny. Percy looks pitiful.

"Do you even know what being lonely feels like?" His voice is sharper, and he knows he'll regret it later, but now it's already too late.

Percy doesn't talk, and the silence threatens to devour Nico. Instead, he fights it.

"All those times I went by your house, and you couldn't even spare a minute to talk to me because _Luke_ was having a party, or _Annabeth_ wanted to go shopping, or _the swim team_ had another celebratory party for their star freshman."

His head remains bowed, and Nico instantly feels regret wash over him. But it's too late now.

Because if there's anything he's ever learned, it's that taking a leap means that the ground behind you crumbles away.

 **A/N: Next chapter the real plot starts! Thanks to everyone who read; I know it's been going a bit slowly at first, but I'm just trying to work on establishing a comprehensive setting. Feedback, especially harsh criticisms, is super appreciated!**


	4. (Percy 2) The Last Chapter

**A/N: not actually the last chapter.**

The sky was a dark, dark blue that day.

I'm gay.

Isn't it funny how many things rhyme with that? My old speaking teacher, to help me with my dyslexia, taught me a game: to rhyme words together, so that they'd make sense.

 _Rain, pain, shame- no, that's not a rhyme._

 _Gay, gray, no way, Nico please stay, should've said that yesterday._

 _Nico's gone away._

My teacher would be proud.

Pain brings out the worst in me. Always, every time. It starts with that inescapable feeling of dread, that no matter what you do or try to squeeze your eyes, it won't leave. No, it'll still be there, and soon enough it aches and aches and aches.

But the worst part is when it stops, and you realize that if you can't feel the pain, you can't feel anything at all. And if that's the case, then, are you really you?

I'm told that there's a dark blue undercurrent that rushes into my eyes, that makes my voice move deeper and quieter. Truthfully, I'm glad, because then people know I'm in pain and know how to react.

And right now, I'm really not glad.

Because sitting in front of me, staring at my eyes with black eyes that _must understand_ why and how I am, that must see the pain within me, and yet have not an ounce of sympathy.

Or at least he was, half an hour ago, but I haven't moved yet, because if I move I'm sure my hopes he'll come back will disappear as well. I'm still on his bed, which could be a sign of sympathy. More likely, he's just too disgusted to come back in.

Truth is, he didn't understand, that in high school it was hard enough for someone like _me_ , without the riches or the brains or even the right sexuality, to even survive. That his awful ticks and glares and snarls and remarks turned people away from him, and by reference, everyone around him as well. That I hated him, almost.

I'm lying, of course, and even I know that.

Because I was, well, in love with him. And now, I will probably never see him again.

Walking into school the next day, I half-expected to be mobbed on the spot.

It was insane. Everyone stared right at me, as if they didn't care that I could see them and hear their talk. I walked to my locker, and immediately the lockers nearby closed and footsteps shuffled away.

In fact, I was basically the walking plague. No one wanted to come sit with me at lunch, or talk about the swim meet next week (could I even still go?), or anything.

Those teen novels have it completely, utterly wrong. There's no angel who swoops in when you come out, that somehow starts a whirlwind romance. There's no slow wave of approval that magically enters the minds of everyone around you, and there's no protection from the onslaught.

Before you come out, it's dark inside the closet, but it's safe. A small voice in your head whispers, maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe it's time to be free, and let the world see who you truly are. Maybe they'll love you. You see the trace of light beyond the closet doors, and that's when you think it for the first time, that most dangerous thought: I'm going to be happy.

And before you know it, the door's open and the light floods in and you realize, oh. The faint light was my reflection, because there is no light in the world.

Only hate.

I stumble through the hallways, not bothering to even try to look at anyone, because I'm scared that if I do see someone I know, and have to watch them turn their head away in shame, that's all I'll see. Not the person underneath, the person whom I befriended, who I failed to be a friend to, but shame.

That person is here, in front of me, but then he's gone. I know he's in front of me because even though I'm not looking up, I'm smelling, and I'm feeling, and I'm sensing. The quickening of his breath as I pass by, the faint odor of parsley that always clings to his skin, the quiver he stifles as I pass by.

Day two passes faster. It escapes through my fingers like trickling sand.

I am numb, and I think it's noticeable. Looking in the mirror, I look almost exactly the same as I did before: my hair is still the same color and styling, my clothing is the same, my eyes are the same tint, my smile's the same.

But a fake is a fake, and there are details beneath, a spiral of cracks, the way my tooth bites down at the corner of my smile now, so that I can stop smiling at a moment's notice. Or the red spiderwebs that shoot out from the corners of my eyes, dancing just underneath the surface.

And day three, and what, and I've lost count. School doesn't seem all that bad anymore, because at least my teachers talk to me. Of course, gone is the social life I once had, but that comes with time. It'll all get better in college, probably. I'll go to New York City, or some other metropolis haven, and I'll watch the sun rise again. All these people in this town, well- fuck them.

Though I still miss Nico.

Sometimes I like to think about a list of all the sins I could've done. I don't really believe in God, that is, the same God that my mom believes in, but I guess I don't _un_ believe in him either. And every once in a while (or recently, very frequently), I sit down and try to think of all the bad things I've done in my life that could make him hate me.

Because today, somehow everything got worse.

"Today, we welcome a new student, one who some of you may be familiar with. Please welcome Mr. Luke Castellan."

 _-grab 'im lets go he won't fight back he's scared of his mommy_

Eyes that shone like the crystalline, that danced like the flickering screen, that killed ignoring the

 _Scream all you want, bitch, but no one's goin' save you from what you got comin_

"Nothin'", he answers to a question in that low, dust-tinged voice and I can hear the girls scream

 _What's happenin stop get off him, a low, dust-tinged voice, saves me from_

"Sit", the teacher points, and the table shifts _behind_ _me_

 _He moves in, and he won't stop it hurts so much_

"-next to Percy here, okay?" His eyes are on me I know and I want to turn and shout or flinch but I can't because I know he'll just _look at me with those stone cold eyes and say_ "Sure, we used to be friends´ _oh really is that what friend means because friends don't leave each other to_

But it gets worse, the symphony in my head, each memory overlaying and lapping at each other like rolls of lava, building upon each other until it's a large wave of fire threatening to roll over, and then

I'm there again.

It's like I'm a spectre, unable to be seen, but unable to change it. It's a sunny day, the clouds revealing nothing bad in the forecast for days to come. Actually, it's not any day- it's September 9th, 2007. It's that date, that year, that sun-filled day.

And there I am, past-me stumbling across the grass trying to run, and the older boys tackling me down like they always do. Except this time, it's different. And we're behind a shed, and the shadows are positioned just right that it's almost dark like the night, and the river beside is roaring too loud to be screamed over.

Luke walks by. He's younger then, obviously, and yet his face is almost timeless. It's handsome, chiseled and carved out of diamond, but in a way that you know you'll be scarred on the sharp edges. He hears the scuffle, and walks behind the shed.

Some people say children can't commit crimes, because they don't truly know what's happening. And maybe that was true to all those older boys- Kron, Atlo, they're dumb all right, didn't even make high school.

But underneath his piercing eyes, squirming as they held me down and he just _watched_ as I screamed, as if it were something completely ordinary like a butterfly or a flower, he was not a kid, not my friend, not anything but a _monster_.

The monster returns to high school, and the ruinous cycles of history continue. Wonderful.

This is the last page in my book, my story of sorts. This diary still has many pages left to fill, but I can't be the one to fill it because it's too twisted. Don't ever let anyone tell you that it gets better.

Because it gets worse.

So much worse.


End file.
